gaze into the abyss
by DelinquentPolarBear
Summary: Peter wants a beta that won't, can't betray him. He knows a ritual and he knows the perfect human. The ritual doesn't do what it's supposed to.


A/N soo i love dishonored and the outsider, a lot, and this is the result. Short and all, but this is in my half baked series for a reason lol. so in this, there hasn't been a parking garage scene, and he's kidnapped from his house not the prom. Also peter is more obsessive over having an actual beta that follows his orders bc he believes it will help speed along the whole murder revenge plot, also getting scott to come over to his side. the usual ya know

* * *

"Stiles," Peter croons into the darkness, claws clacking on the hallway wall, "come here, sweet boy. Don't make me come to you."

Stiles shivers. He knows this won't go well. If he goes to Peter, the alpha will take it as submission, but if he doesn't, Peter will have no problems finding him. The clothes surrounding him can't even come close to being as suffocating as the knowledge that Peter will take him, no matter what. Stiles knows that he stinks of fear and anxiety, but he hopes, _pleads_ with whatever is listening to him that the smell doesn't escape the small closet he hid himself in.

The soft sound of footsteps nearing him makes Stiles choke down a whimper. How could he forget, Stiles thinks numbly as a shadow stops in front of the closet, there is _never_ anyone listening when it counts.

The door creaks open to reveal Peter's bright white grin, teeth sharp, and glowing red eyes. "Oh, Stiles. You should have come to me when I first called you."

—

Peter has him chained in a abandoned building, somewhere hours away from Beacon Hills. That's if he didn't just drive around to disorient Stiles. The full moon is out and visible through the large windows that line the walls. Peter is watching it like a hawk, checking the time every few minutes. An unassuming book lays open on a dusty table, but Stiles can't see much of the writing beyond a few hand drawn pictures of the moon and a vague sketch of some symbol.

Unlike usual, Peter doesn't speak much. He's muttering to himself, picking up small tubs and opening them, painting up and down his arms. He barely spares Stiles a glance except to draw a line on his forehead with the remaining paint.

That's the opposite of comforting. A silent Peter means Stiles doesn't know what is happening. Not knowing what's going on is one of the best ways to ensure any escape plans will go wrong. There's only so much Stiles can guess with any sort of coherence, too. Panic is a constant haze on his mind, narrowing his focus down to _I need to get out, I need to get out, ineedtogetout!_

Finally, when the moon seems to be highest in the sky, Peter turns to Stiles, a manic grin on his face. "Tonight, you will become what you should be, Stiles." He lights a previously unseen candle and says a few quiet words. The normal red flame flares an odd blue-purple color.

Peter advances on Stiles, taking his right arm and breaking the chains holding it up. "Tonight, I gain what I should have had all along," Peter murmurs. He lifts Stiles's arm and brings his mouth to the soft inner wrist. Fangs grow and protrude from Peter's lips. Stiles can feel the hot, moist air wash over his arm. Behind Peter, the blue-purple candle's glow increases until it's almost blinding.

Time slows down. The little color there is fades from the room, leaving Peter in a odd grey scale. Even his red eyes can't escape it.

Stiles blinks away tears. The room's edges have become infinitely more dark, and there seems to be large shadows moving within them.

"Interesting. A candle instead of whale oil. Hm."

Stiles jerks his head toward the low voice, panic coming back with avengeance. Above the candle, a gaunt man floats. His arms are crossed and his eyes… it's like looking into twin black holes, and Stiles feels like he crossed the event horizon the second he heard Peter break into his house.

The man tilts his head, taking in the scene in front of him. "You refused him, and yet, he intends to turn you. In fact, he would have you be his slave. What would you do if you could escape right now?"

Stiles opens his mouth but nothing comes out. His arm is still gripped in Peter's hand, fangs far too close to fragile skin for his liking. He just wants _out_.

The next second, he and the man are both on a floating piece of street. The pavement is uneven cobblestone and light shines dully, despite no clear origin. In the distance, a whale croons while it swims in the misty nothingness. Stiles thinks he sees more limbs than there should be on it.

"Well, Mieczyslaw," the black eyed man says, waving a hand, "you're free, for now. Tell me, what do you know of the Void?"

Stiles looks around wildly. "I-I'm guessing this is it?"

"Yes."

"Who are you? Why did Peter summon you?" Stiles demands, glaring up at the man.

Impassive, he merely spreads his hands. "I am the Outsider. I have no given purpose, and I do not believe Peter intended to summon me. That makes it all the more interesting that I should feel the desire to come here. The tug I felt lead me to you." The Outsider tilts his head again. "Your presence reminds me of some of my previous Marked… which ones, I have yet to determine."

"I don't know what that means," Stiles grinds out. "What do you want with me?"

"What do I want? I cannot say. I have not _wanted_ in a very long time, Mieczyslaw. I watch, I interfere when it strikes me, but for the most part, I simply _am_." The Outsider pauses. "But you have wants. I see them clearly. What I cannot see, however, is what you will do to achieve them. Hm, perhaps…"

"What are you?" Stiles asks, a chill crawling up his back. The Void is cold, colder than anything Stiles has felt before, and he wants to go home. He wants his dad.

"A god," is the bland response. Black eyes stare down at Stiles, judging and weighing his worth. "It has been too long. I will give you my Mark, Mieczyslaw. Do what you will with it, but know your actions have consequences. I look forward to seeing how you use it."

With barely a flick of his fingers, the Outsider has Stiles slamming back into his body, choking on a scream as his left hand burns and glows golden.

Color rushes back into the room, Peter's eyes bleeding red even as he pauses. "What—" Peter begins.

Stiles feels power rush through him, cold like the Void, and suddenly he knows what he can do. Time slows when he clenches his fist. In a second, he's out of his chains and across the room. The drain is immediate, but he focuses on getting Peter restrained. Shadows slam the werewolf into the wall and detach to form handcuffs on his wrists and ankles. Stiles releases his power and time speeds back up.

Peter's eyes widen and he instantly starts to strain against the bindings to no avail. "What have you done?" he roars, claws scraping at the concrete walls.

Stiles raises his hand, looking at the odd tattoo that's still glowing. "His Mark…" Stiles looks at Peter, abruptly realizing he could kill him. Kill him and have it be done with. Kill Peter and he and his dad will be safe. Kill Peter and Scott won't have to worry about fighting for his mind anymore. Kill Peter and—

And, what? Look his dad in the eye and tell him that he murdered a man? Tell the Sheriff of Beacon County that he killed a man that no longer was a threat? Tell Scott that the possibility of a cure is gone? Tell Derek Hale that he killed his last living relative, insane though Peter may be?

Killing him would not be in cold blood, necessarily, but it sure as hell wouldn't be purely self-defense at this point. Stiles has power now, a power that makes him able to keep Peter contained long enough to get him in a more permanent cell. He has a choice.

A bone-chilling wind sweeps over him. The Void, the Outsider, the Mark… there's too many unknowns to make such a big commitment as killing Peter right now. Clenching his jaw, Stiles summons another shadow and knocks Peter out. He steps forward to make sure Peter is really out and hears a glass clink as it rolls away from his foot.

Crouching down, Stiles grabs a blue vial and a piece of paper rolled up and tied with string. "Piero's Spiritual Remedy," he reads, looking at what seems to be a recipe of some kind. He glances around and spots another vial, this one red, a few feet away also with a recipe sheet. "Please tell me I'm not gonna shrink," Stiles grumbles, taking off the cap and gulping the Spiritual Remedy down. He grimaces at the taste, horrifically fishy, but he can't say he doesn't feel better immediately. "That is way better than Red-Bull."

Refreshed, Stiles reaches with his mind and then there's a tear in the air that shows Derek and Scott. They startle back, both shifting and bringing up their claws defensively.

Scott breaks out of it first, mouth dropping open. "Stiles? Where are you? Derek said he doesn't know but I don't believe him. And _what is that?_ It looks like Portal! What the hell happened?"

"I'm fine," Stiles says, cutting off Derek's angry retort. He grimaces. "Mostly. Look, I don't know where I am but I have Peter unconscious." Raising his voice over the incredulous exclamations, he continues, "And also, I was marked by some god called the Outsider and I have powers now. I think I might pass out."

Scott worriedly goes up to the tear, looking over Stiles. "I'll find you, you'll be okay. Can you walk through this?"

"I don't know? I just kinda… made it."

Derek shoulders his way past Scott, inspecting the portal edges with a scowl. "Why is Peter with you?"

"Can I explain later? When we have Peter surrounded by mountain ash and maybe pumped full of wolfsbane."


End file.
